


50 ways to wreck (here we go)

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Fighting/Boxing, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Locker Room, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: "Oh come on, don't be a big baby and hold still," Tanner says. He sounds entirely too cheerful. Harvey could swear that he takes as much pleasure in poking at Harvey's wounds as he did inflicting them in the first place.
Relationships: Harvey Specter/Travis Tanner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21
Collections: Fandom Giftbox 2020





	50 ways to wreck (here we go)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMintJulep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMintJulep/gifts).



> Title from "50 Shades Of Black" by Kovacs.

Harvey jerks away at the first stinging touch of iodine-drenched cloth against his split brow. 

"Oh come on, don't be a big baby and hold still," Tanner says. He sounds entirely too cheerful. Harvey could swear that he takes as much pleasure in poking at Harvey's wounds as he did inflicting them in the first place.

"Jesus, your nursing skills are crap," Harvey complains. "I didn't think there was anything you'd worse at than closing arguments, but here we are."

The pointed look Tanner levels at him almost prompts a smug grin, but it dies on Harvey's lips when Tanner dabs some more iodine at the cut. It fucking _burns_. 

Harvey tightens his fists and tries to remember how nice it felt to punch Tanner.

"You never know when to shut up, do you, Harv? Hold still."

His other hand takes hold of Harvey's chin – a firm but unexpectedly gentle touch of skin against skin, shockingly intimate in a way that the cloth against his forehead wasn't. It instinctively makes Harvey want to twist away. 

The gym is deserted this time of night. It's just Tanner, Harvey, and Bob the security guy down at the entrance, who doesn't even look up from his book anymore when he's buzzing them in. 

Harvey doesn't know when exactly Friday night boxing matches with Tanner became a regular thing. After the Hardman business went down. After Jessica left. After Mike. After Donna. Lots of water under a hell of a lot of bridges. 

Harvey doesn't do nostalgia, but there's something about getting in the ring with Tanner and throwing down that reminds him of simpler days, even when things between them have long since changed and the old contempt has eased into an easy-going rivalry both of them enjoy despite hanging on the pretense that they don't. They're not _friends_ – probably won't ever be. They're too similar for that, too fiercely competitive, and there's always a tension between them that's not quite comfortable in a way Harvey can't explain and refuses to examine too closely. 

That undercurrent of tension is half the reason Harvey doesn't usually stick around after he wiped the floor with Tanner. It's also the reason why the gentle hold of Tanner's fingers against his face make Harvey's gut clench in a way it didn't at the impact of Tanner's fist.

He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to sit still as Tanner tilts his head back to apply a couple of butterfly stitches to the wound before he starts cleaning away the blood that's been steadily trickling down Harvey's temples. Regardless of Harvey's complaint, Tanner's not actually half bad at this. His touch is steady and sure, and he seems to know what he's doing. It would be bafflingly out-of-character — Tanner hardly seems to be the nurturing type — except for how it's also typical for him to be annoyingly _good_ at everything he does. It's nothing Harvey would ever admit in front of witnesses, but Tanner's competence and dogged thoroughness caused him plenty of headaches and sleepless nights. It's only fair that he's benefitting from it for once. 

"There, good as new," Tanner says, declaring his work satisfactory. Perhaps it's even true. Harvey will be the judge of that, once he's in front of a mirror. "Maybe it won't even scar and mess with the pretty face."

Harvey scoffs at the jibe, and can't resist turning it around on Tanner. 

"Aww, Travis, you think I'm pretty?" he taunts. 

Unexpectedly, Tanner doesn't rise to the bait. He smoothes out the bandages and gives Harvey a wry look. "I've got eyes, Harvey." 

His matter-of-fact tone stumps Harvey. The surprise must be showing on his face, because Tanner chuckles. "Come on now, don't even pretend you don't know how you look. Shame about the personality, though," he adds, but the insult barely feels like an afterthought.

His hand still hasn't moved from Harvey's face. It lingers, even though the excuse to touch has passed. 

Harvey should be calling him on it. At the very fucking least, he should pull away. Knock Tanner's fingers off, get up and go home, sleep off the aches and the adrenaline and the weird tightness in his gut when he looks at Tanner. But up close, Tanner's eyes are too blue, and his hand is soft and warm, and Harvey doesn't particularly feel like moving. 

Maybe he got knocked around more than he thought. He's gotta be at court on Monday at eight. A fucking concussion is the last thing he needs now. Sure, some poor sod from Wakefield-Cady is opposing council and Harvey could talk circles around him even concussed and drugged up to his eyeballs with painkillers, but Harvey hates the way his mind feels fogged up and sluggish, hates the sense of being out of control.

Hates it all the more because it's Tanner making him feel like that.

That's — _unacceptable_. He's Harvey fucking Specter. He doesn't let an upstart from Boston pull the rug out from under his feet. 

He reaches out and draws Tanner towards him. There's a moment, with Harvey's hand curving around the back of Tanner's head and pulling him forward, when Tanner freezes up, and Harvey almost expects him to push away and get up. And that'd be okay, Harvey figures, because it still means that he got Tanner to blink first. It's not what he's going for, but he'll take that victory.

But Tanner doesn't pull away. He doesn't disentangle himself and get up. He lets Harvey drag him into the kiss without protest or resistance, and his lips open readily against Harvey's. 

There's a roaring in Harvey's ears, a sense of vertigo he can't shake, and he throws himself into the kiss like he throws himself into every messy new case that people tell him he shouldn't take on. And Tanner matches him move for move, the way he likes to do in front of a jury or in the deposition room.

The bristly sensation of too much hair gel rasps against Harvey's fingers when he tangles them in the short waves at the nape of Tanner's neck. He pulls a little, and Tanner makes a frustrated groan that gets swallowed by Harvey's mouth. 

The kiss doesn't soften. It doesn't lose any of its ardor and fury until they have to break apart to catch their breath.

Harvey cranes his head back and rests it against the locker behind him. The metal door creaks softly, the only sound in the room apart from their twin labored breathing. 

Tanner looks more out of sorts than Harvey has ever seen him before, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed and his eyes gleaming with excitement. It's a good look on him, even if the grin that's starting to stretch his lips is annoyingly smug and makes Harvey itch to wipe it off again with his fists or his mouth.

"You should lose more often if you get like this afterwards," Tanner says.

Harvey frowns. Wait — Tanner thinks Harvey _lost_ their fight? The hell he did! Though if that's how Tanner sees it, maybe that explains the gentle treatment afterwards. 

"What are you talking about? I didn't lose!"

The look Tanner gives him is pure disbelief. "Really? We had to stop because you were bleeding all over the place."

"Sure. But I'd been handing you your ass for the past ten minutes before that. If it had been a pro fight, you know I would've easily won by points."

"You're so fucking full of it." Tanner laughs and shakes his head. He stands, stretching his neck with a cracking sound while never taking his eyes off Harvey. "You know, I was going to invite you for a consolation drink, but since you feel that you've won, I guess you should be the one paying."

"I'm not going to buy you a drink, Travis." 

Harvey knows he should leave it at that. Tell Tanner 'See you next week' and forget about the kiss or how the smell of Tanner's sweat-soaked skin mingled with his aftershave is still clogging Harvey's senses. But fuck it. Like he could ever leave a thing he started well enough alone just because it's got 'bad idea' written all over it. 

So instead of doing the smart thing, he says, "I'm in a generous mood, though. Come back to my place and I'll pour us a nice shot of Macallan."

Tanner looks at him for a long moment, long enough to make Harvey feel self-conscious about the offer and its obvious implications, half-expecting Tanner to throw it back into his face. Long enough that someone else might have backed down. But backing down isn't something Harvey does, and he's not going to start now. 

He holds Tanner's gaze like a challenge until Tanner huffs. 

"You really wanna do this, huh?" He leans in and reaches past Harvey to pull a towel from his locker. His arm brushes against Harvey's shoulder when he draws back, lingering a fraction too long to be accidental. He slings his towel over his naked shoulders and shakes his head with a grin. "You're on."


End file.
